


Forgiveness and Apology (and Paul Bunyan and Pluto)

by saraliz78



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, TIVA - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 18:52:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saraliz78/pseuds/saraliz78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a difficult case, Ziva and Tony return to his apartment to rest. Ziva is faced with the pain her partner experienced when he thought she was dead, and takes matters into her own very capable hands. TIVA, unashamedly so. Some spoilers, some swearing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgiveness and Apology (and Paul Bunyan and Pluto)

After their last case, the last thing Ziva wanted to do was get out of bed. She stretched and rolled over, hugging the pillow to her chest and burying her face in the softness. Her nose twitched slightly at the familiar smell - aftershave, hair gel, and whatever that ridiculously expensive body wash was that Tony was so obsessed with ... Tony! She sat up quickly, realizing that she was alone, but in Tony's bed. That wasn't so strange - after Paris, it hadn't been all that uncommon. No, what was strange was that she barely remembered coming back to his place last night, and that Tony himself was nowhere to be seen. She slid out of bed, not surprised to find that she was wearing a too-large Ohio State t-shirt. She wrinkled her nose in distaste when she realized that she had slept in her socks - the trouser socks she had worn with her boots the day before at work. How tired had she been to fall asleep in dirty socks?

Still wobbly with sleep, she made her way into the living room, and nearly tripped over her missing partner. It looked as though he had started out on the sofa, a trail of blanket and pillow led in that general direction. Tony was stretched out on the floor, one bare foot sticking out from under the comforter that he had dragged from the bedroom. He still wore the pants he'd worn yesterday, but no shirt.

A nagging memory floated indistinctly through Ziva's mind - an image of her clothing in a pile on the floor of Tony's bathroom, bloodstained and torn. That was why she was wearing his t-shirt. Not wanting to disturb him, she made her way into the bathroom and her memory was confirmed by evidence. Her bloodstained clothes were in a pile on the floor with Tony's bloodstained shirt. She shivered at the sight, and bent to stuff the offending rags into the trash bin. She stuffed a towel, some pieces of toilet paper, and Tony's bathroom rug into the trash bag as well, and tied the bag closed. From experience, she knew that the stains would never come out, and if Tony had a problem with her throwing out his things, she figured she'd just buy him a new rug and shirt.

The idiot who had shot Petty Officer Johnson had led the agents on a two day long chase that had ended with him trying to take a shot at Ziva. He hadn't counted on two hundred plus pounds of protective Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo tackling him, but had rallied enough to slam the butt of his gun into the agent's face before he was disarmed and cuffed. Two days of leads, two days of sorting through evidence grisly enough to make even Gibbs seem a little bit paler than normal. Two days of slugging down coffee to stay awake ...

A groan from the living room brought her back into the present. Her partner was, for some reason, lying on the floor in his own home, half-dressed, unshowered, and probably in a good deal of pain. Being hit in the face with a gun wasn't something you could really get used to, she knew this from personal experience, and from the last time it had happened to Tony. He had rolled onto his side, and she winced with sympathy at the sight of the dark bruise that started at his left cheekbone and extended across his nose. It had taken forever to get his nose to stop bleeding last night. She remembered sitting on the edge of his bathtub, while he sat on the toilet lid, holding tissue to his nose and holding his head forward. He kept trying to look up, and she had to pull his head down more than once. So, the blood wasn't hers and wasn't from a gunshot. That was good, all things considered. Why in the world was he in the living room on the floor instead of in his own bed with her?

"Tony? Are you awake?" She nudged him gently with her foot.

He rolled onto his stomach, pulling his comforter over his face. "Don't look at me. I'm probably hideous. Tell me it's Saturday. Tell me I don't have to get ready for work. I don't even care if it's true, just tell me it's Saturday."

She smiled, sitting down on the sofa. "It is Saturday, Tony. And I am not lying to you. We closed the case last night, and we don't have to go to work today."

From under the comforter, he grasped her ankle. "That's the best thing I've heard in days. Wake me up on Monday morning, would you, Ziva?"

He tried to turn onto his side, only to be stopped by what had to be some terrible pain when his bruised face made contact with the pillow. His curse was muffled by the comforter, but Ziva understood him perfectly. "Your nose is not broken, but it probably feels like it is. That murdering bastard hit you pretty hard."

Tony managed to haul himself into a sitting position, still half-wrapped in the comforter from his bed. He leaned back against the sofa, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "I just want to go back to sleep, but I have to use the head. It's not fair."

He was whining, but the memory of him tackling a gun-wielding maniac who intended to shoot her stopped her from making fun or choosing tough love. Instead, she rested her hand on his bare shoulder. "Let's get you up and showered, and then we can both go back to bed. How does that sound?"

"You sure know how to motivate a guy, and I don't want to disappoint you, my ninja, but I don't think the DiNozzo chassis is in sync with the engine, if you know what I mean."

"You are worried that I will not want to choose a car that has sustained some collision damage, even though the engine is in working order?"

"Zi-va!"

She laughed softly. "Sometimes even the most durable and sophisticated vehicles need to be taken to the shop for some maintenance. Shown a little bit of TMZ, no?"

It was his turn to laugh. "TLC, Ziva. Some TLC sounds great, but watching the stars get stalked on TMZ sounds more like something McGee would want to do with his free time."

Ziva's phone interrupted the moment. She found it on the bathroom sink, and when she saw that it was Gibbs, she answered it.

"Ziva, are you with Tony?"

"Yes."

"How is he doing? He's not concussed again, is he?"

"No, Gibbs. The paramedics checked him out. He is not concussed." She glanced at Tony, who still sat on the floor, gathering his will to stand up. She didn't miss the slight flush of his face, or the quirk of his mouth into almost a smile. He was happy that Gibbs had called to find out how he was.

"Good. Are you all right, Ziva? You weren't hurt, were you?" Gibbs' voice was as stern as usual, but years of interpreting Gibbs-speak had trained her in the art of listening for meaning between his words. Gibbs was worried and was checking up on his agents. All was right with the world.

"I am fine, Gibbs. Tony's face is a bit of a mess, but we will take it easy today. He is under my supervision."

"Put me on speaker, would you, Ziver? I need to talk to both of you, and I'm assuming Tony's phone was a casualty of last night's chase."

Ziva hit the speaker button, and Tony greeted Gibbs as cheerfully as he could manage. "Hi, boss. The paramedics ran over my phone."

"I'm not worried about your phone, DiNozzo, I'm worried about you and Ziva. NCIS will replace your phone. We'll get it taken care of on Monday. Is Ziva really not injured, or is she trying to pull a DiNozzo on me?"

At this, Tony laughed. "No, boss. She's fine. It was me that bled all over her, and it was just my nose. No gunshot wounds or stabbings or anything."

The pause on the line meant that Gibbs was probably smiling, maybe shaking his head at them right now. "Well, you two get some rest and call me if you need anything. Or Abby. She's probably baking you cookies or something as we speak."

Tony's stomach rumbled at the very idea of Abby's fresh-baked cookies. "On it, boss. Resting and waiting for cookie delivery. I should get my face busted by a gun-wielding maniac every Friday night!"

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs snapped. "Not even as a joke! Do you hear me?"

"I agree, boss. Weekly would take too much of a toll on my rakish good looks. Monthly? Bi-annually?"

"DiNozzo! Not funny. You're about two seconds away from getting a visit from Ducky. You're acting strangely, even for you. I need your brains inside your skull on Monday, not coming out through your nose. Get your rest, let your partner take care of you, and eat whatever Abby brings over. Don't make me come over there!"

Ziva pushed the speaker button again, bringing the phone back up to her ear. "Tony will not be going anywhere but here until work on Monday morning. I can stop him if need be, and he knows that I can." At this she gave her partner a glare to indicate that she expected his cooperation.

"I'll be in touch, Ziva." With that, Gibbs was off the line, and Ziva was left with her injured partner and the seemingly insurmountable task of getting him off of the floor, into the shower, and into his bed.

To her surprise, Tony was already struggling to his feet, holding his hand to his face as the change in elevation and pressure caused his nose to start bleeding a little bit again. Instinctively, he pinched his nose and leaned back. Shaking her head, Ziva reached up to tip his head forward and led him to the bathroom. "Look down, not up! Do you want to taste your own blood?"

"If I say yes, am I a cannibalistic vampire?"

As usual, his goofy sense of humor caught her off guard and triggered a smile. "Into the shower, Tony. It does not matter if you bleed in there, it will wash down the drain. Do not come out until you have used shampoo and conditioner and you no longer smell like blood."

* * *

After twenty minutes, Ziva was done waiting. What kind of grown man took a twenty minute shower? Opening the bathroom door a crack, she blinked and took a deep breath as hot steam surged outward. "Tony?"

The shower was running, but there was no silhouette of her partner behind the curtain. "Tony, what the hell - " She stopped as she noted a hand poking out through the curtain.

"Ziva, don't!"

Exasperated, she dropped her hands to her sides. "You do not have anything that I have not seen before. Multiple times." She could hear the note of annoyance in her voice, and took a moment to compose herself before speaking again. She took a deep breath. "What is wrong, Tony? You have been in here for a very long time, and you seem to be sitting down in the shower. Give me a good reason not to open that curtain, or I'm coming in there!"

He should have chuckled. He should have made a dirty joke about her joining him in the shower without her clothes. He should have at least invited her in. Part of her rather wished that he would. The lack of response from the other side of the curtain was worrisome. Perhaps he was concussed after all? Using every ounce of patience she could muster, she asked gently, "Are you all right in there? Would you like some help? I can pass you your towel and you will not have to worry about what the terrible temptation of seeing the DiNozzo family jewels might do to me."

Without waiting for an answer, she shut off the water without looking in, and dropped his towel over the bar. She counted to ten, and then parted the curtain. She wasn't sure what she had expected to see, but it certainly wasn't Tony sitting on the floor of his shower with his arm up over his head in what appeared to be an uncomfortable angle. One look at his face told her that he was trying very hard to keep from crying. Definitely not what she had expected. The other unexpected thing was the bruising across his right side along the ribs.

"Muscle cramp." He gritted the words out, sounding every bit as miserable as he looked. "Tried to shampoo, arm wouldn't come down. Hurts. Soap in my eyes."

It wasn't funny, not really. Her partner was in pain, and soap in the eyes was no joke - it was thoroughly unpleasant. Something about the situation resonated humor, but the kind that was best brought up days after the fact, when the embarrassment had had time to fade. She could remember having a severe muscle cramp during a phase of her Mossad training - it had been so bad that it caused her toes to curl up and brought tears to her eyes. She remembered thinking that it hurt less to be shot. Not necessarily true, but in the moment it had seemed so.

"Shoulder?"

He nodded.

"Happened before?"

Again he nodded.

"This bad?"

"Worse."

"What will help you? I cannot just let you sit in there with your arm over your head for hours until it stops. Do I need to call Ducky?"

The near-panic in his eyes stopped her before she even touched her phone. He was on his feet, awkwardly holding his towel in place with his good arm. "Rub it out? Please? Abby did it before."

Something about the way he said, 'please,' resonated with her. As if there was a chance that she could do something to help him and would choose not to. "Of course! You would do the same for me, would you not?"

She secured the towel for his sudden bout of modesty, then led him by the good hand to the bed, where she began to work her fingers into the muscle of his shoulder. She found the problem spot quickly enough. There was a scar there, well-healed, but still visible. A surgical scar. She frowned. When had Tony had surgery on his shoulder? Was it a sports injury? What was he talking about that Abby had rubbed it out for him before? Why would he not have asked his partner? Especially after Paris.

She found the source of his cramp, and dug her fingers mercilessly into the trembling muscle, pushing and kneading until the seizing muscle was forced to relax. His sigh of relief was the best reward she could have had as she gently lowered his arm. The goofy grin he flashed her made it all worth it.

"Ziva David, you are my personal heroine. Not like the drug kind of 'heroin' - you know, without an "h" heroin? You're more like Supergirl. Heroine with an "e". No, more like Wonder Woman, with her magical lasso. Definitely Wonder Woman - raised to be an Amazon warrior -"

He was babbling, and she understood, really she did. Release from intense pain could do that to a person - cause a state of euphoria not unlike a drug reaction. If anyone knew that, she did. Somalia had taught her all kinds of interesting things. Right now, she didn't have the patience to let him drone on. She needed answers.

"Tony!"

He stopped his soliloquy on the virtues of Wonder Woman, immediately.

"Yes, my heroic ninja?"

"The surgical scar on your shoulder. Is that injury related to the muscle cramp you just experienced?"

In that instant, her goofy, happy Tony was replaced by Team Leader Tony. No emotion showed in his green eyes. It was as though a shutter had slammed closed.

"Yes."

Suddenly, she realized that she knew. She was hoping the answer would not be what she thought it was, but she was now certain. And, she couldn't make him say it.

"Is this - is this what Michael did to you when - when you fought?"

He looked down, away from her, toward the door, anywhere but at her. With one question, she had done the impossible - she had shut Tony DiNozzo up.

"Tony, answer me!"

Her voice sounded sharper than she wanted it to. The anger in her tone was not something she had intended, and it certainly wasn't aimed at her partner, but of course he would interpret it that way. If there was a wrong way to take something, it could be assumed that Tony would find a way to take it that way. She saw him practically squirming where he sat, afraid to get up and leave and afraid to stay. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he calculated his answer. Determination to tell the truth. That was what she saw in his eyes. He would not lie to her.

"Yes."

"Michael broke your arm badly enough to mess up your rotator cuff and cause you to need surgery."

He still looked down, away from her. "Yes."

"And you had this surgery the night that - that Michael died, and were on a plane to Israel not three days later?"

He nodded. Apparently, she'd not only shut him up, she'd stolen his voice.

"And in Israel, you were interrogated by my father, then insulted, body-slammed into concrete, and held at gunpoint by your partner, by me."

Her voice shook slightly. She was working things out in her head as she went along, piecing together the story she had chosen not to know. "You went to my home to warn me, to give me the benefit of the doubt, and for your trouble you have been attacked, injured, verbally abused, and held at gunpoint."

Tony said nothing. He actually looked like he might like to run, but didn't trust himself to actually be able to outrun her. She reached out to touch his shoulder again, this time gently as she covered the scar with her hand.

"I was ... away ... for three months. How many of those were you on desk duty?"

When he didn't answer, she continued. "You thought I was dead, and even though the last time you saw me alive, I hurt you and pressed my gun into your chest, you still went on a near-suicide mission to get revenge for my death."

It was not a question, it was the truth stated as she realized it for the first time. "You were lying on the floor of my apartment in pain, and I ran past you to the man who betrayed me and tried his best to give you an injury that would end your career if he was unable to kill you himself. I cradled Michael's dead body while you writhed in pain within touching distance. I did not visit you or even check to find out how you were doing."

Ziva felt the tears begin to slide down her cheeks. It was as if the spell of silence that had held Tony captive broke all at once.

"No! Ziva, don't cry, not over this. I'm fine. He didn't end my career or kill me, and you're here now, so it wasn't a suicide mission at all, now was it?"

He was trying to sound casual, but a tinge of desperation colored his every word.

"Nothing that happened to me was your fault, Ziva. I'm sorry you had to be here to see the - the stupid shoulder cramp thing. It doesn't happen very often, and the physical therapist said it would stop happening if I continue with the therapy, which I have. It was a fluke, brought on by my all-star tackle last night. And a bottle of shampoo that had it in for me."

Ziva watched as the DiNozzo spin machine went into action, turning the entire situation into comedy and heroics before anyone had a chance to take it too seriously. Blaming himself for everything from technique to judgment to jealously. Taking on all of the bad himself and leaving only the good for her. It might have worked four months ago, but not any longer.

"I had not thought about things enough, Tony. I did not consider what went on behind the scenes and while I was held in Somalia. There is no excuse for a partner to hold a gun on her partner. I basically told you that I wished you had died instead of Michael, and slammed your shoulder that Michael broke, that you had surgery on that I chose to know nothing about, into the ground. While you were down, I pressed my gun into your chest and threatened to shoot you. There is nothing I can do that will ever make those things right. I am sorry, Tony. I hope that you can forgive me."

He shook his head vehemently. "Ziva, there is nothing to forgive! You were held captive and tortured. I think those are some pretty mitigating circumstances. I'm just glad you're back as my partner, that you're still you after all you've been through!"

"Not good enough, Tony. At the time when I did these things to you, I had not yet been through anything at all other than Michael's betrayal and death. Somalia had not yet become a possibility, and in fact, if I had not tried to force Gibbs to choose me over you, likely would never have happened at all."

"Ziva, it's over. We're here now, and there is nothing you've done that you need to apologize to me for. I know I can be jealous and petty and - and pretty annoying sometimes." He laughed shakily. "Hell, Kate used to threaten to shoot me about once a month, and I never held it against her."

She studied him, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. So, he thought he was pulling out the big guns, bringing up Kate? _Not good enough, Tony. Not this time. You will not weasel my way out of a share of blame that I justly deserve._

"Did Kate press her gun into your chest when she made those threats after physically attacking you?"

At this, he went white. Without saying a word, he stood up, gently walked her out of the bedroom, and closed the door.

Ziva was furious. Angrier than she had been in a very long time. How could he honestly believe that he deserved to be hurt and held at gunpoint for any reason at all? How could he believe that being annoying or jealous were good enough reasons to have a gun held on him by someone he was supposed to trust, someone whose job it was to have his six?

Too angry to reasonably deal with Tony herself, she dialed Gibbs.

"Ziva? Everything okay?"

"No, Gibbs. Everything is not okay. I have just discovered that your - your Senior Field Agent is under the impression that he deserves to have his partner hurt him on purpose and hold a gun to his chest because he can be, and I quote, "pretty annoying sometimes." Is this something you could explain to me?"

"Damn it, Ziva. I take it that something more happened in Israel than I was made aware of at the time?"

"Yes. That is exactly what I am saying. I - realized what I had done today, and tried, like a civilized human being, to apologize to Tony. That is when he started acting as though I had two heads. He told me that there was nothing to apologize for. So, I explained what exactly required apology. He told me that it was all right, what I had done, because Kate used to threaten to shoot him all of the time."

Gibbs sighed. "What happened then?"

"I asked him if Kate pressed her gun into his chest after physically attacking him often. He shut himself in his bedroom. Damn it, Gibbs! How in the world did I screw this up by apologizing to someone important to me for doing the worst thing that I have ever done?"

"You didn't do anything wrong, Ziver. Don't worry. I'll talk to him."

She felt a cold fury squeezing her insides, making her feel sick. "Don't tell me I did not do wrong, Gibbs. Don't you get it? I distrusted my partner when he only ever had my back! Worse than that, I hurt him and then threatened to kill him! And when I tried to apologize, he told me it was all right that I did these things because he can be jealous and annoying. Since when is being annoying a good reason to shoot someone?"

Gibbs was silent for a moment before he finally spoke. "I think he panicked because you pulled a 'nice Gibbs' on him."

"I beg your pardon? What is a 'nice Gibbs?'"

"Abby has a theory. Apparently, Tony gets nervous when I'm too nice to him. Abby says that 'nice Gibbs' is the best way to scare the hell out of him fast. She says it puts him on edge waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"That is - not normal. He is not normal! What kind of person thinks that they deserve poor treatment from those who should be protecting them?"

In her anger, she picked up one of Tony's shoes from the floor and hurled it across the room.

"Ziva? I know you're upset, but you really ought to calm down. I can come over there and talk to him. He's probably just a little bit shocky from yesterday. I'll come over and take him to Ducky."

Ziva wanted to scream. This was getting her nowhere. Gibbs was handling her with kid gloves, assuming that she could not handle her partner on her own. Time for that kind of handling to stop. "Gibbs, he's my partner. I - I just needed to vent my frustrations. He does not need Ducky - the paramedics cleared him, and I have double-checked. Let me take care of this my way, and I will call you back later, yes?"

Reluctantly, Gibbs agreed. "Be gentle with him, Ziva. He missed you. Grieved for you. But not too gentle, or he'll bolt."

As she tossed her phone onto the sofa, she concentrated on sounding calm. As fucked up as it sounded, it was true.

She knocked firmly on the door of Tony's bedroom, and got no response. She waited a few minutes, and then called through the door,

"Open it, or I'll open it for you, Tony! We need to talk!"

A moment later, the door opened, and she found herself face to face with her partner, who had ditched the towel for a pair of sweat pants and a well-worn NCIS t-shirt. He looked comfortable, but there were subtle signs of his distress in the tight expression on his face, the stiff way that he held his body, and the shadows of exhaustion under his eyes.

"I'm really tired. Please, can I just sleep? I'll talk later, I promise."

Tempted to let him get the rest he so desperately needed, she found herself about to open her mouth to agree, to back away from the serious discussion at hand. She caught herself, and instead insisted. "No. Talk now, then rest."

She saw that his first instinct was to refuse, and watched as his mind warred with itself, ultimately deciding that he could not deny her a conversation if that was what she wanted from him. She steered him toward the bed, and made herself comfortable.

"I am not angry with you, Tony. Relax."

"Then why did you throw my shoe across the apartment and dial Gibbs to yell about me?"

"I was angry then. Not now. Not at you."

Ziva let her hand linger on his shoulder, and felt some of the stiffness in the set of his shoulders melt away at her reassurance. Could it really be that easy? Was one small, affectionate gesture really such a big deal to him?

"Who, then? My shoe? My wall? My neighbor who probably thinks we're filming an episode of Jerry Springer over here now?"

She smiled. There was her wisecracking partner. If he could still joke, there was a chance they could fix this.

"I did not mean to upset you earlier. I was working through my thoughts out loud, and that may not have been the best way to process things. Up until today, my thoughts about what happened with Michael, Israel, and then Somalia were all about my own reactions and feelings. I was grieving for Michael, for my relationship with my father, and coming to terms with my survival. I simply had not yet thought about what it was like for you until I saw the scar on your shoulder - the scar that Michael caused - that I caused by harboring him in my home."

"No, Ziva. That' not - "

She interrupted him. "Shh. It is my turn right now, Tony. You are next."

Ziva continued, "I reacted poorly to the situation, allowed my emotions to control me, to blind me to the truth. I was, frankly, startled to suddenly realize the extent of my blindness to what went on with you. I know that you blame yourself, Tony. I knew that you blamed yourself in Israel, I thought about it in Somalia, and since I have been back, I have known. I did not consider what that meant until this morning. You never owed me an apology, not for fighting back against to preserve your life, not for giving me the benefit of the doubt when I did not deserve it, not for anything. You have been begging my forgiveness since you rescued me with every action you take and word that you say. I had assumed that it was ... justified, but this morning I suddenly realized that it was not."

When she stopped, she expected him to say something, anything - even a stupid joke, but he remained silent. Feeling a touch of guilt for keeping him up when she knew that he was physically and emotionally wrung out over the last case, she moved her hand from his shoulder down his arm and placed her hand in his. He squeezed her hand, and she felt reassured that he was still there, just processing all that she had said.

"I care about you, Tony. Not just about your ability to solve a case and watch my six - I care about what you think about things and how you feel. To suddenly realize that you had been feeling responsible for things beyond your ability to control, and to realize that I had been party to adding to your guilt was shocking. Do you see?"

He looked scared. Was she pulling a "nice Gibbs" on him again? Did he need her to insult him or something? How screwed up was her partner that he could not accept an apology without looking like he was waiting for her to yell, "April Fools!"

She really couldn't bring herself to be less gentle with him at the moment, but she had another idea. She could prey on his libido.

Gently, but firmly, Ziva closed the distance between them, and pressed her lips to his. For a brief moment, he hesitated, but she deepened the kiss, and he was powerless against her. In moments, she had pinned him to the bed, and leaned over him, letting her hair tickle his chest and face. He reached up and ran his hand through her long, dark hair. To her surprise, he pulled her face close to his and pressed his lips to her forehead, then rolled onto his side, wrapping his arms around her. If he was tired enough that his libido was not interested in coming out to play, then she would not tempt him further.

She extricated one arm to reach up to stroke his hair, and she felt him relax even further at the caress. A smile crept across her features. Her big, strong partner was like a cat. Pet him, and he would stretch and rub against her, begging for more.

"Tony? You are okay?"

He nodded. "So glad you're here, Ziva. I missed you. When I thought you were dead ... if I couldn't bring you back to life, I wanted to make sure that whoever killed you was good and dead. That's why I went after Salim. Then, you were alive and you didn't hate me, which was so much more than I could have ever hoped for. I just - I'm so damn glad you're here!"

Giving his hair another rub, she twined her other hand in his. "There is not anywhere else I would rather be. Rest, Tony. We have the whole weekend to rest, and I will be here with you the whole time. If you feel up to it, we will order Chinese or pizza this evening, but for now, I can see that you need to rest, and so do I. That case was grueling to say the least."

Tony nodded his agreement. "Horrible. Miserable. Exhausting. I can go on - I have a thesaurus in here somewhere. We can keep looking up synonyms for "awful" all day long." He paused for a moment. "Is Gibbs okay? What did he say when you talked to him?"

"That he was willing to come over here and drive you to see Ducky if I thought you might be concussed. I convinced him that I could handle you myself."

"Thanks for that." He shuddered. "I don't think I could have handled "nice Gibbs" when I'm this beat. I mean, what if he gave me a meaningful look, a curt nod of acceptance, or a manly pat on the back? I probably would have burst into tears, and had to move in the dead of night, change my name, and - and go to clown college or something."

She giggled. "You would not look good with a rubber nose and a curly wig. I think that law enforcement is the career for you. Fortunately for you, I like my men with overly styled hair, strange senses of humor, expensive suits, and very old college t-shirts that I might borrow upon occasion."

He turned one of his best goofy grins in her direction. "Hey! That sounds like me!"

"It does, does it not?"

"But the t-shirt isn't all _that_ old, Ziva."

Ziva curled her body close to his and let herself relax. “One more question, and I will let you sleep.”

He shook his head and groaned melodramatically, “I don’t believe you. I don’t think you’re ever going to let me sleep!”

“I promise that I will let you sleep, after you tell me why you were sleeping on the floor in the living room when you could have been in bed with me?”

“Because you snore like a man. Not just any man – like a lumberjack. Paul Bunyan with a head cold.”

If he hadn’t been injured, she would have smacked him. “Who is Paul Bunyan? I hope he is not a podiatrist. The name would be unfortunate.”

Tony chuckled. “He’s a giant lumberjack with a blue ox named Babe. An American folk hero.”

“America is a strange place. You do not think that this Paul Bunyan would be on the citizenship test, do you?”

“Highly unlikely. His place in American folk history is highly contested – apparently, there’s no such thing as a blue ox, and the whole thing may have been made up by a logging company as an ad campaign. Personally, I think it’s a crock to dethrone the American King of Lumberjacks – it’s like when they decided Pluto wasn’t a planet. It’s not like anyone bothered to ask how Pluto felt about the demotion!”

She smiled, glad to hear her partner’s usual odd sense of humor kick back into gear. “Now I will probably have strange dreams about huge lumberjacks, blue oxen, and a tiny planet with an inferiority complex!”

“Sounds like a movie I saw – “ He yawned, then winced at the discomfort the motion caused to his bruised face. “- think it was science fiction. Saw it at a drive-in, but I don’t remember much ….”

As they drifted off to some much-deserved rest, Ziva gave his hand another squeeze. Yes, he was strange. Her partner was handsome, too charming for his own good, and prone to deflection and using comedy as a shield. He was also a good man, and he was definitely a keeper. 


End file.
